


a great big canvas (life is)

by fadagaski



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cerebral Palsy, Getting Together, Interior Decorating, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Original Character(s), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: "Life is a great big canvas, throw all the paint you can on it." - Danny KayeJoe is hired to paint the interior of Nicky's new house in preparation for the arrival of some very special people.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 75
Kudos: 292
Collections: The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020





	a great big canvas (life is)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Prompt: Joe/Nicky hurt/comfort or fluff (love a good kidfic!au). No NSFW.

When Joe arrives at the address given to him by a harried-sounding Italian over the phone, there’s no space on the drive for him to park his van since a mountain of boxes and furniture is blocking the way. The sky thick with clouds overhead, it’s no wonder the broad-shouldered man is hurrying his dining chairs in two at a time, but he hasn’t got long before the heavens open. 

Switching off the ignition, Joe slides out of the van, meandering across the box-strewn lawn to the porch, and waits for the man to reappear. When he does, Joe is struck first by the nose, then the eyes, and then the puzzled little smile. 

“Hi,” says Joe, after clearing his throat. 

“Hi,” comes the Italian accent from the phone. “Can I help you?” 

Joe grins and offers his hand. “I’m Joe, the house painter?” 

“Oh.” The Italian wipes his palms on his jeans before he accepts the handshake. “Nicky. Thank you for coming.” 

Turning a little, Joe gestures to the contents of the house currently sprawled across the yard. “Do you want some help?” 

Nicky’s smile flashes quick as lightning across his face, leaving Joe momentarily stunned. “Thank you. I don’t like the look of this weather but I stupidly didn’t pay for the deliverers to help me unpack.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Joe says, dark ominous look sent skyward. He gets a splat of rain on the forehead for his trouble. 

They wrestle the fabric sofa and three mismatched armchairs through the front door as more and more rain comes down. In the space of half an hour, the downpour sets in, with a distant roll of thunder to boot. 

“If we can get the boxes in the garage, the rest of the furniture can stay out. A little rain won’t hurt it,” Nicky says as they loiter under the porch roof for shelter. They’re both of them more than a little damp, but at least it’s a summer rain. 

“Sure,” Joe says. 

Nicky blinks at him, then chews the inside of his lip. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what you came here for. I can handle the rest if you want to go. I’ll pay you for your time, of course.” 

Joe waves a hand. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” There’s another rumble of thunder, a little closer this time, and the rain kicks up a notch. “C’mon, before all the cardboard disintegrates.” 

They do succeed in getting all the boxes into the garage, though they’re both soaked to the skin from the effort and the storm is well and truly underway by the time Nicky closes the garage door. Joe shakes his head like a dog, sending rain water flying in all directions. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” Nicky says, then looks at the boxes. A fair few have lost structural integrity, the scrawled labels on them made illegible now the ink has bled. “Oh. Uh.” Joe’s not sure, but he thinks Nicky might be blushing. “Let me just -” 

He opens six boxes before he finds the ones with bath towels for the both of them. Joe can’t help but notice the kids’ clothes, the toys and board games, even the little toothbrushes with Disney characters printed on them. 

“Thanks,” he says as he accepts the towel and begins to pat himself dry. He nods at the boxes. “Is your family moving in today too?” 

“Not yet,” Nicky says. He smiles the softest smile Joe’s ever seen. “I want everything to be perfect for them first.” 

When they’re no longer dripping, Nicky gives Joe a spare pair of pants and a dry shirt, whacking Joe’s painter overalls into the tumble dryer for a spin. Then he leads him into the house proper so they can talk shop: colour schemes, paint types, ceilings and focus walls. 

It’s a modest home, slightly less fancy than he usually works, with a big kitchen-diner and a lounge that was last updated in 1984, judging by the wood panelled walls. At the back of the house are four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Nicky gets noticeably more excited as he guides Joe through this area, but not for his own room - “Just, white walls, white ceiling, honestly I don’t care.” 

“What about your wife? Won’t she care?” 

Nicky squints at him. “I don’t have a wife.” 

“Girlfriend.” At Nicky’s continued look, Joe rolls his eyes. “Boyfriend. Husband. Partner of indeterminate gender. My point is, it’s not just you.” 

“But it _is_ just me.” 

“Oh.” Joe looks around the room. It’s a nice space, good light from windows to the east and south. He could do a lot with it. “White, then,” he says, because he’s not being paid to imprint his own aesthetic. 

The other three bedrooms make Nicky much more animated. “This is for the two eldest. _My_ two eldest.” He smiles again, mostly to himself it seems, and squirms his shoulder in a way that Joe finds hopelessly endearing. “Cara is nine; she’s crazy about horses. Julie is seven and a half and she likes collecting things.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“Leaves, rocks, stickers, postcards, fridge magnets. She’s like a magpie.” 

“Huh. Okay. What colours are you thinking?” 

Nicky bites his lower lip, gestures vaguely at the room. “Cara said she wanted purple. Julie likes green.” 

Purple and green. Honestly, Joe has had to manage worse colour combinations. “Alright, no problem,” he says. 

The next room, similarly sized, once belonged to a teenager, if the ghosts of posters on the faded wallpaper are anything to go by. “The boys will be in here,” Nicky says. “Danny’s four. He likes dinosaurs and robots. His favourite movie is _Pacific Rim_. You know it? With the giant alien monsters.” 

Joe can’t help the way his eyebrows lift. “Pretty gory film for a four-year-old.” 

Nicky sighs. “I know. I didn’t show it to him, but now that he’s seen it, it’s all he wants to watch.” He shrugs. “Miles just turned two. _His_ favourite movie is _Snow White_ , which is at least age appropriate.” 

Looking around the space, Joe can picture it much more easily than the girls’ room in his mind’s eye: strong primary colours, soft carpet underfoot, toys scattered everywhere. 

The last room is maybe double the size of the average closet. “Office?” With four kids and no partner, Joe can’t see how it can be for anything else. 

“No, actually.” Nicky stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels. “This is for my oldest son, Todd. He’s six.” 

Joe tries very, very hard to keep his face blank. 

“Five kids? Wow,” he says, as neutrally as possible. 

Nicky hunches his shoulders a little but ploughs doggedly on. “Todd is - He needs his own space. Somewhere calm he can come to when he’s overwhelmed.” 

Joe scratches his beard and frowns at the wall. “So, what, maybe a pistachio green? Or would you prefer a pale yellow?” 

“I - Yeah.” Nicky chuckles awkwardly. “I really don’t know anything about decorating, sorry. Whatever you think is best.” 

Breathing through his nose, Joe counts to five before he opens his mouth. “The thing is, with no disrespect, I’ve had too many clients give me free reign only to withhold payment later.” He forces a smile for Nicky. “It’s much better if you just tell me what you want.” 

“Oh. I - Sure. I can see that.” He nibbles his lip as he thinks it over. “Maybe start with my room first? That’s the easiest. I’ll get the kids round to see what they want. How does that sound?” 

“Perfect,” Joe says. “I’ll start tomorrow.” 

* * *

Over the next week, Joe settles into his rhythm: arriving at 8AM, stopping for his packed lunch at midday, bulling through until 6PM when, paint-spattered and a little achy, he goes home to his tiny apartment above the Lebanese place where he normally gets take-out. It would be utterly lonely if it weren’t for the fact that Nicky is there every day, and Joe has come to the conclusion that the man must be independently wealthy. Who else can afford to have every room in his new house painted while he takes his time unpacking his disintegrated boxes and generally flutters from room to room? 

That’s not to say Nicky doesn’t go out. He does - every afternoon, in fact, but not for long enough that Joe would say it’s for work. 

So. Independently wealthy. Divorced, therefore not practising Catholic. Prolifically fertile to have five kids by the age of - here Joe hazards a guess - thirty. 

That’s about all Joe has figured out by the start of the second week. He likes Nicky well enough, as clients go, and he’s certainly easy on the eyes. He makes a mean cup of coffee, too, but that’s to be expected of an Italian. He doesn’t _know_ Nicky, and he’s not really interested in changing that. This is just a job. In about six weeks, Joe will be paid up and moving on to the next project. So it goes. 

And then, on a second rainy Wednesday, Joe meets Todd. 

Well, first he meets Andy. She slinks into the house with leonine grace, so silent he doesn’t even notice there’s someone in the smallest bedroom with him until her shadow flits over the wall he’s painting. He just about survives the heart attack. 

“Hi. I’m Andy.” 

Collapsed on his ass, hand pressed to his sternum like some swooning heroine, it takes Joe a moment to regroup. “Joe. Sorry, does Nicky know you’re here?” 

She nods, twitch of a smile in the corners of her mouth. “My wife and I are looking after Todd. We’ve brought him to see his new room.” 

Joe glances around, a quick double-check to judge what’s yet to be done. “It’s - mostly ready,” he says cautiously. He waggles his wet brush. “Just touching up the bases.” 

“It’s nice,” Andy says. “Good colour.” 

“Thank you.” Joe went with a warm biscuit in the end, something soothing but not chilled like a blue. At dusk, the sun through the western window turns it to buttery gold. 

Elsewhere in the house comes the indistinct yet gentle sound of Nicky’s voice in conversation with a little boy of a much higher pitch. 

“That’s Todd, then?” Joe asks. 

“Yup. You’ll need to clear up your crap.” Andy nods at the open paint can and the roller in its tray, still wet. 

Joe tries not to bristle. “Sure.” He hops to his feet, moving quickly to tidy his stuff up. 

“No rush,” Andy says. “They’ll take their time getting here.” 

“Why? You’d think a little kid would be eager to see his room, right?” 

Andy cocks her head ever so slightly, and suddenly that leonine grace transforms, becomes hawk-like, keen eyes missing nothing. Joe waits for whatever judgement she deigns to pass, and pass it she does, saying matter-of-fact, “Todd has cerebral palsy. They’ll take their time.” 

Joe packs up his stuff with one ear pricked to the noises outside the room, Nicky and Todd and another woman, who he assumes is Andy’s wife. They make their way steadily closer, inspecting each room, and Joe can just catch Nicky’s words now, explaining the paint swatches on the walls where Joe has done colour tests. 

“And this here is your room,” Nicky says, just out of sight. 

“All for me?” 

“All for you. Take a look.” 

There’s a muffled clattering noise and then a little boy peers around the door frame, all big eyes and alarming eyebrows beneath floppy black hair. 

“Hey Todd,” Andy says. “This is Joe. Come say hi.” 

Dressed smartly in an adorable suit-and-bowtie combo, Todd stomps in on his paediatric crutches, Nicky not far behind him. There is absolutely no familial resemblance between the two of them, but Joe hasn’t yet found a photo of the mysterious mother, so he can only assume the genes on her side of the family are strong. 

“Hi Todd,” Joe says. 

“Hi.” 

Nicky rests a hand on the crown of Todd’s head. “Joe’s been painting your room. What do you think so far?” 

Todd, to his credit, hums and haws as he looks around with a critical eye. Joe’s surprised at how nervous he feels for the judgement of a six-year-old. “Welllll,” Todd declares, “it’s kinda _boring_.” 

Andy laughs, and so does the woman in the doorway, even as Nicky blushes red. “Todd!” he admonishes. His glance flicks to Joe. “I’m so sorry.” 

Joe shakes it off with a chuckle. “Hey, you asked his opinion.” He grins at Todd. “It’s boring because I didn’t know what a cool person you are. But now that I’ve met you, I can see this colour is all wrong for you.” 

Todd looks up at Nicky. “He said I’m cool, Nicky!” he squeaks. 

Setting aside the puzzle of a six-year-old calling his dad by his first name, Joe gets down on his knees so he’s eye-level with Todd. “Yeah, you’re cool alright. Look at that snazzy suit you’re wearing.” He winks quickly up at Nicky, who stares at him silent and unblinking. “What’s the big occasion?” 

Todd’s grin is blinding. “I got adopted today!” 

Ohh, now things are beginning to make sense. Joe’s heart melts in his chest. “Really? Wow, congratulations! Aren’t you lucky?” 

“Yeah! Nicky’s the best!” 

“He sure is,” Joe agrees. One handed, he grabs his paint catalogue. “So, Todd. Tell me what your perfect room looks like.” 

* * *

It’s been a long day for everyone, none moreso than Todd, who crashes out halfway through his Hawaiian pizza. Joe, having accepted the offer to eat with them - since it made a nice change from Lebanese take-out alone in his studio apartment - watches from the living room window as Nicky carries Todd to Andy’s car and straps him into the backseat, then hugs goodbye to Andy and her wife Quynh. They drive away, and Nicky stands on the sidewalk a long time after they’ve gone. 

When he comes back inside, he’s misty-eyed. Joe offers him Todd’s plate - three nibbled crusts and a pile of pineapple pieces carefully picked off. “Why did he ask for Hawaiian if he doesn’t like pineapple?” 

Nicky laughs and accepts the plate, stacking it with the others on the coffee table. Joe hasn’t gotten round to this room yet: the carpet is covered preemptively with plastic sheets, and all the furniture is squished into a square in the centre. 

Nicky flops next to Joe on the sofa. “He likes the taste but not the texture, especially when it’s warm.” 

“Eh, that’s fair,” Joe says. “I couldn’t eat grapes when I was a kid. Too much like eyeballs.” 

Nicky pulls a face. “That’s disgusting.” 

Joe shrugs and eats another slice of pizza. 

“You were really good with him,” Nicky murmurs when the silence has drawn out just a little too long. 

“What’s not to like?” Joe asks. “You’ve got an awesome son.” 

“Yeah.” Nicky smiles goofily to himself. “My son.” When he turns that smile on Joe, his stomach flips. “It won’t be long until I have the rest of them.” 

“Okay.” Joe, emboldened by pizza and the later hour, turns sideways with a knee up on the seat to face Nicky fully. “Explain to me how this all works. Because I thought you were some guy with a stash of money squirrelled away and -” Joe splutters to a stop, horror dawning. 

Nicky raises an eyebrow. “And …?” 

Ducking his head, Joe can feel his face heating up under the cover of his beard. He mutters, “And really good aim.” 

It takes a second for Nicky to parse his meaning. Then he laughs with an adorable snort, head rolling against the back of the sofa, and oh, Joe is totally smitten. 

“God, that’s funny,” Nicky giggles. He grins at Joe, and Joe _knows_ his heart is in his eyes - Booker has told him, more than once, that Joe is the easiest book he’s ever read - but Joe doesn’t look away, and Nicky doesn’t seem to mind. 

“So what’s the deal?” Joe prompts. 

“I was his foster carer,” Nicky says. Joe gestures for him to keep going. Grabbing a can of Coke off the table, Nicky settles back with a wiggle of his shoulders, legs criss-crossed on the sofa, knee pressed warm to Joe’s. He pops the tab with a hiss. “I had just been approved for fostering and the social worker - Nile, she’s lovely - well, she called at two in the morning. Could I take on a boy with cerebral palsy?” 

“And you said yes.” 

“I said yes, of course.” He slurps from the can. “He was with me by five the same morning. It was meant to be short-term. I’m on the opposite side of the state from where he grew up and they don’t like to move kids too far if they don’t have to. But there aren’t many foster carers who will take on children with disabilities, and short-term has turned into eighteen months.” 

“Wow,” Joe says. “And the others?” 

Nicky twitches a smile tinged with sadness. “Todd’s brothers and sisters. When he was taken from his birth mother, so were they. Five kids, one of them disabled: no foster family in the state could take on that many, with those needs, at such short notice. The girls have gone to one family and the boys to another.” 

Scratching a hand through his curls, Joe tries to imagine being separated from Mohamed and Soughah while growing up. For all the roaring fights they sometimes got into, he would have hated being torn away from them. “That’s rough,” he says, voice gone a little hoarse. 

“Yes,” Nicky says simply. “The chances of adoption for all of them are low, even individually, except maybe Miles as he’s still young enough to attract attention. But all of them together? With Todd as well?” Nicky shakes his head. “And I thought, I can’t let that happen. So I applied to adopt them.” 

“And now here you are,” Joe says. He picks the other can of Coke, pulls the ring tab and holds it up in a toast. “To new family?” 

For a heartbeat, Nicky looks at Joe in a way that makes his inside light up like a meteor shower. 

Then he clinks his can against Joe’s. “To new family,” he agrees. 

Eyes meeting over their cans, they drink together. 

* * *

Four days after the Todd intervention and the evening of pizza, Joe arrives at 8AM same as always, but this morning, instead of brewing up a coffee with a flirty smile in the kitchen, Nicky is in the driveway, the hood of his people carrier propped up, leaning into the engine cavity. Parking up on the street, Joe slips out of the car and jogs over, catching the tail end of a torrent of Italian that, by tone alone, would probably make the Pope faint. 

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Joe asks. 

“Fucking car won’t start and I have to be at the courthouse in an hour, Holy Mary mother of -” Nicky switches back into Italian to swear more effectively. 

Honestly, Joe is a little turned on. 

No time for that, however. He pokes at the engine even though he has no idea beyond the absolute basics most drivers pick up. “What’s the problem?” 

Nicky takes a deep breath, hands on his hips, and sighs it out slowly through his nose. There is a tick in his jaw where he’s grinding his teeth. “I left the lights on,” he spits. “Stupid, stupid, irresponsible -” 

“Woah, hey.” Joe steps into Nicky’s space to rest his hands on his broad shoulders, gives them a little shake for good measure. Nicky blinks at him. “It’s just a flat battery. I’ve got jump cables in the van. I’ll fix this, okay? You go -” He tugs on the end of Nicky’s tie “- change your shirt since you’ve got oil all over it.” 

The delightful blush Joe has become so fond of dusts across Nicky’s cheekbones. “Will -” His voice cracks, and he has to cough to clear his throat. “Will it be ready in the next five minutes? I really can’t be late for this. Should I call a cab?” 

“It’s gonna be fine, Nicky,” Joe soothes. “Now go change.” 

Joe waves goodbye from the driveway as Nicky, in his revived car, backs onto the street, before he heads inside. He’s been working in the living room these past two days, now that the smallest bedroom is painted to Todd’s exact specifications. Dressed in his ratty splattered overalls, Joe sets out his paint cans, his rollers and his trays, and finally faces the wall he’s spent the last two days stripping of godawful dated 1980s wood panelling. To the tinny sound of Youssou N’Dour singing out of his phone, Joe loses himself in the rhythm of his work, rolling on primer, letting it dry during a quick coffee break before he starts in on the second coat. 

He’s halfway through that when he hears wheels on the driveway and an engine that gurgles to a stop. Joe drops his roller in the tray and wipes his hands clean on the rag he keeps tucked into his pocket. Kids' voices approach the front door, babbling over each other in high excitement. 

The door rattles open. “Joe?” Nicky calls. 

“In the living room!” 

“Come on, come say hi to Joe.” 

“Who’s Joe?” mumbles a very young voice. 

“The _painter_!” That’s Todd, sounding exasperated. 

Joe can’t help the nerves buzzing in his belly as, one by one, Nicky leads the children in to see him. Dressed in their court-best, they all share the same flat black hair, the same slightly wild eyebrows, the same pointed chin. None of them look like Nicky, but they look very much like each other. 

“Hi,” Joe says. 

They chorus their hellos, suddenly gone shy, except for Todd, who hurries over to hug Joe’s leg with one arm. Joe pats Todd’s head and swallows hard. 

Nicky, scratching the back of his neck, smiles at Joe’s bewildered look. “Let’s go see your rooms, yes? Todd can show you the way.” 

“Yes!” Todd detaches from Joe. “Follow me! Nicky said mine’s done already!” He races out of the room trailing his siblings in his wake. 

Joe clears his throat. “I hope he likes it.” 

“He’ll love it.” His hands flex by his sides. “Will you come too? I mean -” an awkward chuckle “- the girls have some ideas for their room.” 

“Sure,” Joe says. “Lead the way.” 

They find the children in Todd’s room staring in awe at the wall. Joe is quietly pleased that even Nicky double-takes at the sight of it, though he’s seen it grow every day. It’s a mural of a forest that seems to go on and on, deeper and deeper. Between the trees are glimpses of fantastical beasts and mythical creatures plucked from the pages of a well-thumbed book of folklore Nicky unpacked from a box with Todd’s name barely legible on it. 

“I wanna see my room!” Julie shouts, stampeding out the door with Danny and Miles hot on her heels. 

“Yours isn’t painted yet,” Nicky says. Cara sidles up next to him, slipping her hand in his. He squeezes it once, smiling down at her. “It’s good, isn’t it?” he asks, nodding at the mural. 

Todd sighs happily. “It’s _amazing_.” 

“Thank you Joe,” Nicky prompts. 

“Thank you Joe!” Todd parrots. 

Cara stares up at Joe with big, watchful eyes. She’s got an old soul, he thinks. 

“Hi,” he says. 

She ducks her face into Nicky’s side. Nicky grimaces at Joe. “She’s a bit shy. But she had lots of ideas in the car.” 

“Oh yeah? Nicky said you liked horses.” She peeks out at him. Joe grins. “Unicorns too? Or just horses?” 

“I like unicorns,” she whispers. 

“Awesome, me too. What about a Pegasus? Great big white horse with wings to fly.” 

She nods, once, slowly, easing away from the protection of Nicky’s body. 

Joe racks his brain. “There are kelpies too. They’re horses in the sea. But not _seahorses_ , y’know?” 

Cara’s eyes light up. 

From the hallway, Danny bellows, “What about _my_ room?!” 

“Alright, I’m coming!” Joe calls. With a final smile at Cara and a wink to Nicky, he slips past them both and goes to tackle his next challenging customer. 

“I really like him,” Cara murmurs behind him. 

“Yeah?” Nicky says. “Me too.” 

Joe grins. 

* * *

Though the living room is not even a quarter done, Joe switches focus to the kids’ bedrooms. They have to stay with their foster parents until the school semester is over, which gives Joe barely two weeks to get both murals done. 

Somehow, Nicky is _more_ nervous now that the paperwork is all signed and filed. He hides it well behind mild smiles and polite chit-chat, but the more time Joe spends with him, the more he’s able to see the signs: a tightness around the eyes, a recurring tic in his jaw, a lot of really delicious homemade food - so much that Joe has stopped bringing lunch to work with him, and most evenings he sits with Nicky in the unfinished living room with their dinner on their laps watching nature documentaries on Nicky’s laptop. 

The fifth time Joe begs off a night out with Booker by text, Booker calls. 

“Look, it’s not my fault your shit team lost the semis,” he says, “so quit avoiding me and let’s go out tonight.” 

Joe picks a splodge of paint off his knee. “I can’t. I need to stay and finish this room. The kids are moving in this weekend.” 

“So we’ll make it a late one. Or this weekend.” 

“I -” Joe casts about for a solid, work-related excuse that isn’t _I’m having dinner with my client_ and comes up with nothing. 

Booker, of course, with a nose like a bloodhound, sniffs this out immediately. “Wait, are you mad at me for something?” 

“No! God no, of course not. It’s just …” Joe sighs, head thumping back against the chest of drawers behind him, and closes his eyes. 

“Ohhh,” Booker drawls. “What’s his name?” 

There’s no use denying it. 

“Nicky,” Joe mutters. 

“You like him?” 

Joe chuckles lowly. “Yeah. I like him.” Last night Nicky made cannelloni and the way his cheeks bulged as he struggled not to spit it all out laughing at Joe’s dumb jokes stole Joe’s breath away. 

“Woah, you _really_ like him,” Booker says. “This is the guy with the dozens of kids?” 

“He’s got five, Booker. Five beautiful, amazing kids. They’re gonna love these rooms.” He’s been trying to figure out a way of inviting himself over this weekend to watch their faces when they view their murals for the first time. That’s why he doesn’t want to commit to a night out with his best friend. He wants to see the joy light up their faces. 

Fuck, he is so screwed. 

“Alright, brother,” Booker says. “Let me know when you’ve got things straightened out your end.” 

Joe snorts. “Straightened?” 

He can _hear_ Booker’s eyeroll. “Yeah, yeah. See you soon.” 

For five minutes, he allows himself to wallow on the floor, chewing over the does-he-doesn’t-he situation with Nicky, the nature of their contracted business relationship, the tiny detail of Nicky being very single and a new father and how much Joe still doesn’t know about him except that he likes him, a lot, like hot sparklers fizzing in his chest. 

Then he gets to his knees, picks up his paintbrush, and starts again. 

A short while later, there’s a gentle knock on the door before Nicky enters carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of cookies that smell fresh baked. 

“Did you make these?” Joe asks. 

“Yes.” 

Plopping down on the floor next to Joe, Nicky hands over one mug and places the plate between them. Joe doesn’t need to be told to dig in: so far, everything Nicky has cooked has been the best thing he’s ever tasted in this country. 

The first bite of the cookie makes him moan. “God, these are good.” 

Nicky flushes pink, satisfied little smile on his lips. “Thank you.” He dips one in his coffee and nibbles the soaked edge. “Can I ask - Are you free on Saturday?” 

Joe blinks at him, cookie halfway in his mouth and crumbs in his beard. He chews hurriedly, heart thumping, and swallows. “Yup, I’m free,” he says, aiming for casual, missing by a mile. “What’s up? I can work overtime if you want to finish faster.” 

“Oh, no. That’s not - I wondered if you wanted to be here when the children see their rooms for the first time? It’s your hard work that they’re going to love.” 

“Nicky,” Joe says, relief making him laugh as he claps a hand on Nicky’s knee where it’s pressed, bone to bone with his, “you are a mind reader. I was trying to think of a way to come over without being weird. Yes, I’d love to be here when they move in. It’s gonna be great.” 

Nibbling more of his cookie, Nicky smiles, pleased. 

* * *

Saturday morning, Joe tears through his closet like a tornado trying to find a shirt that’s nice but not _too_ nice, that makes him look good without it seeming like he’s angling for a date. The problem is, he’s a painter and a soccer fan, which leaves him a choice of a white button-up - last used at his sister’s wedding - and a green button-up - last used … on a date, eight months ago. 

Date-nice it is. He picks the green. 

He arrives at Nicky’s house just before noon. The driveway is empty but he’s already been told to park on the street. He pulls in behind Andy’s car and climbs out. 

Nicky has the door open before Joe even reaches the porch. It’s definitely an ego boost to see Nicky double-take at the sight of Joe in something other than paint-splattered coveralls and a threadbare t-shirt. Nicky himself looks good enough to eat in a long-sleeved cream shirt that does amazing things to the breadth of his shoulders. Joe has to swallow hard with the way his mouth waters. 

The house smells amazing. Aired out to get rid of the lingering paint, there’s now the scent of coffee and baked cakes and pasta wafting out of the kitchen, where Andy and Quynh have set up shop next to an admittedly Italian-themed smorgasbord on the table. “Did you make all this?” Joe asks them. 

Andy nods at the chopped carrots in a bowl. “I made those.” 

“You bought them in a store,” Quynh says, “pre-sliced.” She offers a bowl of rice balls covered in sesame seeds. “I really did make these.” 

Nicky huffs at them. “Could we maybe wait until my kids get here?” Then he grins to himself. 

Joe knows what he’s thinking. “Your kids,” he repeats with a smile, and is struck anew when Nicky turns that grin on him. 

“Is everything set?” Quynh asks. “Every room finished?” 

“Yes,” Nicky says, at the same time as Andy says, “Not the master bedroom.” 

Joe frowns. “I did the master first. White walls as instructed.” 

Andy lifts an eyebrow. “Could use a bit more colour on the walls.” 

“A bit more liveliness,” Quynh agrees with a sage nod of her head, just a flick of her eyes to redirect Joe’s attention to Nicky, who has one large hand over his face. 

“You two are the worst,” he says. 

They can’t get into it further, though, as there’s a car horn honking out front, followed very quickly by several bangs on the front door. Nicky hurries to throw it open, dropping to his knees to be immediately swamped by five ecstatic children. Joe, Quynh _and_ Andy all have their phones out to film it, as well as the young woman standing on the porch grinning like she just won the lottery. 

Amid the crying and the laughter, the adults manage to pluck the kids off Nicky enough that he can get back to his feet. “Welcome home,” he says, voice thick with tears. “Are you hungry?” 

“I wanna see my room!” Danny shouts. 

“Yeah!” That’s Julie, clinging to Nicky’s trousers with one hand and reaching for Joe with the other. “Is it done Joe? Did you finish?” 

Joe takes her little hand in his. “It’s finished. Come see.” 

Like a carnival parade, they tumble through the house dragging the adults behind them. At the sight of their doors - also painted, because Joe never met a white door he liked - they squeal and charge forward, shoving into their rooms: Cara and Julie left, Danny and Miles right, Todd to the small room at the end. 

“Yessss!” Danny hisses, diving straight into a bean bag. 

“Wow! Wow! Wow!” comes out of the girls’ room. 

Nile, standing in the purple doorway, whistles. “That is really something.” 

“No kidding,” says Andy. Joe’s surprised to see how genuine she is in the sentiment, eyes wide staring at the mural he painted of rolling green fields against a dusky sky and horses, unicorns, and Pegasi in every direction. 

In the middle of the room, Cara stands motionless. Nicky comes up behind her, rests a hand on her shoulder. “Cara?” Silently, she rolls into his arms, face buried against his belly. Nicky wraps her up tight. “It’s a lot to take in,” he says, stroking her hair. 

Joe bites his lip and feels _wretched_. “I can change it,” he murmurs, low. “If she doesn’t like it, I can change it. No cost.” 

“No,” Cara says, muffled by Nicky’s shirt. “Don’t take it away.” 

Julie bounces up to Joe and throws her arms around his waist, chin on his belly to grin gap-toothed up at him. “It’s so cool!” 

Quynh appears behind Andy in the doorway, peering over her shoulder. “The boys are thrilled with theirs,” she reports. 

“I wanna see!” Julie detaches from Joe and shoves past him. “Oh wow!” he hears from her. 

Leaving Nicky and Cara in peace, they go to the boys’ room, where Nile whistles again. “I need you to come do my place,” she says to Joe. The mural in this room is more _Jurassic Park_ thank _Pacific Rim_ , with people riding dinosaurs on a highway that wraps around the room. 

Miles is staring at a triceratops with his thumb in his mouth. Joe kneels down next to him. “It’s not a scary dinosaur,” he says, and points to its mouth. “See? It’s eating leaves. This dinosaur _loves_ a good salad. And look! There’s a person riding on him just like a horse. This must be a friendly dinosaur.” Miles tracks this detail with his eyes, takes a long moment to compute it, then toddles forward to press a wet kiss to the triceratop’s cheek. 

“Oh God, that’s too cute,” Nile murmurs from the doorway. When Joe glances over his shoulder, she’s filming this too. He winks at the camera. 

“Everyone, come eat!” Nicky orders from the corridor. 

It takes some corralling but eventually they pry the boys away from their rooms - Todd insists, “I can eat in here!” to which Andy replies, “You can, but you won’t” - and into the kitchen. However, they dive into the buffet with gusto, sampling every thing, each child opening at least three juice boxes to drink the equivalent of one. Then Nile puts some music on and the kids start dancing, which gets the adults dancing, and in no time at all, there are ten food-drunk people wiggling and giggling in the kitchen. 

Nicky, it turns out, has got no rhythm, dancing like a geriatric George Michael and not caring at all. Joe’s heart swells three times its normal size to see Nicky laughing and swaying with his kids. He’s never felt so blessed in his life - and he’s just the painter. 

The way Andy’s watching him watch Nicky makes him blush. He retreats to the fridge for ice water. 

After a couple of hours, with the older kids beginning to flag and Miles all but asleep on Quynh’s shoulder, Nile bids a quiet goodbye. 

“Forever?” Cara asks. The dancing has loosened her up, brightened her face until she’s glowing. 

Nile grins at her. “Well, I’ll come round just because I like you guys. But the official stuff? All done, as far as I’m concerned.” 

“Oh,” Cara says, and smiles. 

Quynh comes back from putting Miles down for his nap and rests her hands on Andy’s shoulders. “We’ll help you clean up and then we’ll split too.” 

“No, you helped me cook all this up,” Nicky says. 

“Yeah,” Joe says, and holds up the sliced carrots - mostly ignored in favour of sweeter things. “You worked so hard.” 

Andy kicks his shin, laughing. 

“Seriously,” Nicky says, “I know you’ve got plans. I’ll manage all this.” 

Andy, Quynh and Nile leave, and the kids retreat to their rooms for some quiet time to wind down. Nicky stands by the dining table and surveys the mess that’s left. 

“Come on,” Joe says. He flicks open a large plastic garbage bag. “You sort leftovers. I’ll do trash.” 

Nicky looks at him with eyes full of feeling. “Are you sure? You don’t have to stay.” 

“I want to,” Joe says, no hesitation. “Let me stay.” 

Working together is its own kind of dance. They move easily through each other’s space, fingers brushing as they pass plates back and forth, a hand on the hip to move someone a little to the left, a touch on the elbow to get attention. Joe is keenly aware at all times of his proximity to Nicky, his warmth, his scent, his shadow on the wall. 

Like tessellated pieces, they seem designed to fit. 

Joe fills the sink with hot soapy water, and Nicky doesn’t protest, doesn’t treat Joe like a guest. He stands at Joe’s side with a dish towel in hand, accepting the plates and cutlery as they come. 

As Joe is scrubbing at a stubborn spot, Nicky sighs and just - leans into him. Rests his head on Joe’s shoulder like it’s the most natural place in the world for him to lay it. 

Joe plants a kiss to Nicky’s crown without conscious thought. 

Slowly, Nicky straightens up, his face inches from Joe’s, his eyes heavy-lidded as his gaze flicks down to Joe’s mouth. 

And it’s the easiest thing in the world to cup Nicky’s face with a wet hand, to tilt his jaw up and brush their lips together. 

Nicky’s shaky sigh, breathed across Joe’s cheek, kindles a hunger in him Joe has never felt before. He licks at the seal of Nicky’s mouth, moaning when he is granted entrance into the wet heat inside. Their tongues touch and it’s like lightning. 

A hand on his shoulder turns him away from the sink. He grips Nicky’s hips to pull him closer, angling his head for a deeper kiss, grunting with the force of arousal that slams through him. 

Then Nicky pulls back, breaking their kiss with a slick wet sound. 

They pant into each other’s mouths, drawn like magnets. Joe’s fingers flex over Nicky’s hip bones. He can still taste him on his tongue. 

“We can’t do this right now,” Nicky whispers. 

Joe’s stomach plummets. “Right. Sure.” Hasn’t he spent God knows how long reasoning himself _out_ of trying? Predicting exactly why this can’t go anywhere? 

He lets go of Nicky’s hips and shuffles back. 

“No, wait,” Nicky says, and pulls him into a flash of a kiss, there and gone like a burst of gunpowder. “Listen. Listen first.” 

Joe makes himself breathe, however shaky, before he nods. 

“I like you. I _really_ like you,” Nicky says, grinning when Joe can’t help the hopeful smile that takes over his face. “I do. I - I want to try this with you. It’s been so long and - Anyway. I want to be with you.” He looks at Joe through his lashes, which _does things_ to Joe’s brain. “Do you feel the same?” 

“Yeah, Nicky, yeah. Please.” 

Nicky smiles again, but it twists with worry in a heartbeat. “I’m not - I come with kids. They’re my first priority. Always. Do you understand?” 

“Of course,” Joe says fervently. “It’s what I love -” He chokes. Nicky’s eyes blow huge. “I mean - I admire that about you.” 

Nicky grins like a sunrise. “What you admire. Right,” he says. 

“But we have to wait,” Joe says. “You’re still my client.” 

Nodding, Nicky steps into Joe’s space, wrapping his arms around Joe’s middle as Joe winds his over Nicky’s broad shoulders. “We’re under contract,” Nicky says against Joe’s neck, setting the skin to shiver. 

“So we’ll wait until the job is done,” Joe murmurs into Nicky’s ear. His hands stroke up and down Nicky’s back, soothing more than arousing. “And then we’ll try. Okay?” 

Nicky presses his lips to Joe’s neck where the skin is bare and vulnerable. “Okay,” he whispers, and holds on tight. 

* * *

When Joe arrives, there are toys strewn across the lawn and bikes abandoned on the driveway. The sky is dark with rainclouds starting to spatter the ground. It’s been a month since the kids moved in, three days after the whole job finished, and Joe is ready for whatever comes next. 

He parks on the street and climbs out of his van. There are five little faces in the living room window watching him. He waves at them as he approaches and they shriek - inaudible at this distance, but he can tell by their expressions - and vanish into the house. 

Smiling, he picks his way over the detritus of family life. The heavens open when he’s not even halfway across the yard. By the time he reaches the door, he’s pretty damp. 

He rings the doorbell. There is giggling inside, and shushing, and the sound of footsteps. 

The door is opened by Nicky, the kids clustered around his legs grinning up at Joe. 

“Hi,” Joe says. 

“Hi.” Nicky looks him over, tiny smirk curving his mouth, eyes bright with humour, soft with affection. “Come in. I’ll get you a towel.” 

Joe walks through the door into a house made a home, every wall vibrant in hue, and doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy very belated holidays to wandasmaximoffs and to all a good night!


End file.
